Page 23 of Taken By the Outlaw

"Just thinking about who I was. Who I'm becoming." I set the book aside, uncurling from the chair. "Wondering if they're compatible."

He crosses the room, pulling me to my feet and into his arms with easy strength. "And? What's the verdict?"

I look up at him, at the face that's become so dear to me in so short a time. "I don't know yet. But I'm not afraid to find out."

Something softens in his expression, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Brave little librarian."

The tenderness in his voice undoes me. I rise on tiptoes, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens, his arms tightening around me, my body melting against his.

"Here?" he murmurs against my mouth. "Or our bed?"

Our bed. The casual claim sends a thrill through me. "Bed," I whisper, not ready to be so exposed in the common areas of the compound.

He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me through the halls to our room. The journey is punctuated by stops against walls, doors, his mouth never leaving mine for long, his hands exploring, claiming.

By the time we reach the bed, we're both breathing hard, clothes disheveled, eyes dark with need. He lays me down gently, coming over me like a shadow, like protection, like home.

"I can't get enough of you," he confesses, voice rough with desire. "One taste and I'm addicted."

"Then don't stop tasting," I reply, bolder than I've ever been, pulling him down to me.

We come together with a hunger that should frighten me but instead feels like the most natural thing in the world. His hands know my body now, know exactly how to touch me to make me gasp, to make me arch beneath him. And I'm learning his—the spots that make his breath catch, the pressure he likes, the pace that drives him wild.

When he finally enters me, it's like coming home—a completeness I never knew I was missing until I found it in his arms. We move together, finding a rhythm that builds and builds, his eyes never leaving mine, connection deeper than physical.

"Say it," he demands, voice strained as we near the edge together. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," I gasp, the truth tearing from somewhere deep inside me. "I belong to you, Clark. Only you."

My surrender is absolute—body, heart, soul. And as we shatter together, as pleasure washes over us in waves, I know I've crossed a line I can never uncross. I'm his now, irrevocably. Marked by him, claimed by him, changed by him.

Afterward, he holds me close, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin. "I meant what I said, you know," he murmurs into my hair. "You're not temporary. This isn't just about the diamonds, or the heist, or keeping you quiet."

I lift my head to look at him, searching his face for truth. "What is it about, then?"

Something vulnerable flashes in his eyes, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it. "It's about you," he says simply. "About us. About the fact that from the moment I saw you in that alley, I knew you were meant to be mine."

"I thought I'd be afraid of that," I admit. "Of belonging to someone so completely. Of giving up my freedom."

His hand slides into my hair, cradling my head. "And are you? Afraid?"

I consider the question seriously, turning it over in my mind, examining it from all angles. "No," I finally answer, the truth surprising even me. "I'm not afraid of belonging to you. I'm afraid of how right it feels. How quickly everything I thought I knew about myself has changed."

He smiles—a real smile that transforms his face, making him look younger, less burdened. "Good," he says, pulling me closer. "Because I'm not letting you go, Emilia West. Not now. Not ever."

And as I settle against him, as his arms tighten around me in protective possession, I realize I'm under his spell completely. The librarian is gone, replaced by a woman who craves danger, who finds freedom in surrender, who belongs heart and soul to a man who lives outside the law.

A woman who wouldn't have it any other way.

ten

Clark

I lean against the doorframe,watching Emilia move around the kitchen with easy confidence, preparing dinner with Cruz and Dex like she's been here for years instead of days. She wears a simple sundress I had one of the boys pick up for her—something casual enough for the compound but that shows off the delicate curves I can't get enough of. Her hair is pulled back in a loose knot, exposing her neck where my marks are beginning to fade. I'll have to remedy that tonight. The thought sends heat through me, but it's accompanied by something else—a possessive pride that's become familiar whenever I look at her. She's adapting to this world, to my life, finding her place among my crew with a grace that continually surprises me. And they're responding to her—the wariness giving way to grudging respect, then to genuine liking. Even Mick, suspicious by nature, has softened toward her. They see what I see—that she's something special, something rare.

She laughs at something Dex says, the sound bright and unexpected in our typically somber compound. My chest tightens at the sound. When was the last time anyone laughed in this place? When was the last time I wanted them to?

"Never thought I'd see The Wolf looking so domesticated," Mick says quietly, appearing beside me with his typical stealth.

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